


Moments

by Genevievey (WednesdayGilfillian)



Category: Ballykissangel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 06:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/Genevievey
Summary: A series of disconnected oneshots, not all occurring in the canon universe.





	1. Game

Patient was perhaps not the best word to describe Assumpta Fitzgerald. Tenacious, yes. Stubborn, definitely. But patient..? She liked people who spoke the plain honest truth, and spoke it herself often enough; sometimes rather harshly. She had no time for mind games or two-facedness. And that was the way she liked it; Assumpta believed herself to be perfectly secure in her judgements and beliefs, and felt that nothing would change who she was. At least, that was what she’d thought…

Fitzgerald’s was busy, that night. The landlady sighed, grabbing a moment of respite as she leaned against the back wall. She let her gaze wander across the room, a familiar feeling washing over her. What was it, exactly? The faces and the chatter of her friends brought a gentle warmth, but it felt…incomplete. Not for the first time, Assumpta felt alone amid a sea of people. Oh, they’d notice if she disappeared, there’d be no one to pull pints – but all of these people would be gone at closing time, to their own homes and their own families, and she would be alone again. Naturally.

Well, there was one person who didn’t always leave immediately after closing…Sometimes he’d linger, give her a helping hand (a partly-listening ear…) but in the end, he always left too. And she always cursed herself for feeling disappointed.

Her eyes fell on Peter (as they did far too often), sitting at a table by the window with Padraig. They were engaged in a friendly game of chess, hiding laughter behind competitive poker-faces. She sighed in frustration; Peter was too damn good at that face, the one that kept everything inside carefully hidden. Sometimes their relationship really did feel like a game; bluffing and second-guessing and losing pieces along the way… At least they were evenly matched; she could keep a straight face as well as he could. But Assumpta couldn’t quite stop herself from hoping that one day he might slip up, make a false move, and then she could break through. Perhaps.

God, she felt like a drink – a strong one. Assumpta reached for a glass, averting her eyes from their table; but their voices still reached her ears.

“Hmm…”  
“I think we’ve got ourselves into a stalemate.”

That was it, really. A stalemate; he couldn’t move, and neither could she. She knew she ought to, but instead of settling for a pawn Assumpta was just staring wistfully at a knight she’d already lost. Pointless, hopeless, helpless… It seemed like a lose-lose situation, for the both of them.

“Hang on…Ha!”  
Peter made a move, and Padraig threw up his hands in frustration.   
“Darn you!”  
“What can I say?” the curate grinned, getting to his feet. “I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead.” 

At the door, he turned to look at her, and the little smiling nod he gave her settled warmly in her stomach for a moment, until the door swung shut and Assumpta shook her head to clear it. It was ridiculous, but though Peter’s presence could make her uncomfortable, his absence was almost worse.

Thoughtfully sipping a glass of wine, Assumpta suddenly came to a realization. As tortuous as it seemed, this eternal game of silent glances and unspoken feelings – it was almost preferable to _losing_ the game. Not knowing was killing her slowly, but knowing and hearing what she didn’t want to…that might actually break her heart. At least, with it all still up in the air, she could speculate and hope that maybe, just maybe, things might turn out the way she wanted. God, that made her sound pathetic, childish, unable to face reality. But it was how she felt.

Drinking more deeply from her glass, the publican glanced at her watch. Another two hours till closing; till she would have nothing to distract her, but a dark empty bedroom and her own thoughts, which invariably wandered to the one man she could not have. And she’d probably think of him before closing, too. Assumpta sighed again. However brave a face she put up, she was just no good at this game.


	2. Where the heart is

Peter savoured the texture of beer on his tongue as he gazed about Fitzgerald’s pub. His favourite place was virtually empty tonight – apart from the unfailing presence of Brendan, Siobhan and Padraig in their usual spot. The curate lowered his glass suddenly, realizing something; Fitzgerald’s was his _favourite place_ …equal to, possibly even surpassing St. Joseph’s. As inappropriate as that may be. 

Of course, the church meant a great deal to him; the centre of his work, a spiritual sanctuary, a place of beauty and calm… But, now that he thought about it, the calm of St. Joseph’s would never be enough to satisfy him without the balancing cheer of Fitzgerald’s…and vice versa, for that matter. Between the two, Peter felt like he had found a new balance in this little Irish town. 

However, any balance is always delicate, and at the familiar sound of a woman’s laughter, Peter felt the balance tip against him. He sighed.

“Another?”  
He looked up with a start, to find Assumpta smiling at him from behind the bar.   
“You’d have me drink myself into poverty,” he muttered, gesturing for her to refill his glass.  The landlady smirked as she pulled him a pint of lager.  
“I thought you’d already taken a vow of that.”

 _Yeah, it’s the other one I’m regretting_ , Peter found himself thinking, with some bitterness, but just laughed, shook his head, and accepted the drink. 

He couldn’t quite keep his eyes from Assumpta as she went back to the punters, her lovely face animated in revelry. When she was happy, and sparkled, she was just _so_ beautiful. Heck, she even managed to take his breath away when blazing mad. The worst was those rare occasions when she let down her shield, and he could see that she was in turmoil. Then Peter could only just restrain himself from taking her in his arms, stroking her hair… The curate sighed again, more heavily, and took a deep drink from his pint.

But even with such inconvenient thoughts plaguing him, tonight Peter could not feel grave for long. Not in the warm ambience of Fitzgerald’s, with his friends nearby. It was quite amazing what Assumpta had done to the place, how well she kept it up practically on her own; it really was the social hub of Ballyk. 

Peter remembered once having read something somewhere about people’s houses, and how you could tell what a person was like by analysing where they lived. Another window to the soul, if their eyes were otherwise occupied…as Assumpta’s were, at present. (And anyway, Peter was already aware how dangerous it could be to hold her gaze for too long). For the first time since he’d arrived in Ballyk, the curate turned an appraising eye on Fitzgerald’s.

The room was large enough to be accommodating, yet small enough to feel cosy. The lights were gentle, several little shaded lamps, which gave the place a pleasant glow. Warm colours, too; cream walls and the dark rich wood of the bar. Ebony, almost…like Assumpta’s hair… Damn it, this was not good for him; but as a lover of books, Peter had a knack for finding symbolism.  If he could just focus on the pub itself…

Unpretentious, practical, and comfortable. At one end of the room was a varnished mantle, set with a mirror and decorated with the subtly feminine touch of lavender in little vases, and unlit candles. The other end had the great rough open fireplace. Now, if he _was_ looking for symbolism, he might think how that told of the landlady’s many and varied facets; she could be fiery as hell, and then beautifully soft at other times…

But of course, Peter wasn’t going to let himself think about her. Definitely not. He took another sip of his lager.

And then, of course, there were so many finer details to notice in the room; little decorations Assumpta had added to make the place attractive. The old map of Wicklow, vintage advertisements for Guinness or Powers, various framed paintings of landscapes… A few cupboards round the place, and a little bookshelf in the corner. Straining to see, Peter made out a few names; Sean O’Casey, Thomas Moore…Well, the landlady _had_ been through college after all, and clearly had a mind for fine literature. And then there was the staircase, leading to the second floor, the private world of the landlady… Peter had never been up those stairs. Never would. They seemed to taunt him…

Peter shook his head suddenly, and drained his glass. When you start personifying inanimate objects, you know you’re in too deep. Allegorical thinking was not good for this priest, it seemed. He should probably call it a night, and go home.

“You’re awfully pensive tonight, Father,” called Brendan, from down the bar. Assumpta was leaning against the wall, in her usual way. She smirked.  
“Pondering the fate of the world, are we?”  
“Ah, let me buy you a drink,” the schoolteacher offered with a smile, and Peter stood up to join them. “It’s too early for you to go home yet.”

As he took a seat between Siobhan and Brendan, and accepted a glass from the smiling publican, Peter found himself thinking that, really, he was home already.


	3. Waking

Assumpta shifted slightly, still mostly asleep. She was slowly becoming conscious of the feel of cool sheets against her legs. She was cold, too, and every passing second made her less asleep and more aware of it. She didn’t need to roll over to know that the spot behind her lay vacant.

_Leo…_

She wondered where he went. She tried to care. But in her unguarded state of half-sleep, she found herself unable to pretend anything that she didn’t truly feel. And what Assumpta truly felt was exhausted, and disillusioned, and alone. And cold. 

All she could think to do was huddle into the foetal position and pull the whole duvet close around her: it wasn’t as though her husband would miss it. That simple recognition made her feel a little sick, so Assumpta screwed her eyes shut and tried to imagine that Leo McGarvey’s suitcases were not under her bed and on top of her wardrobe. That his shoes weren’t lined up with hers by the door. That his _presence_ in her bed would be more remarkable than his absence.

Unguarded as she was, Assumpta Fitzgerald felt a tear roll down her cheek.

\--

Assumpta wasn’t sure what had woken her. And in that moment, she could not find it in herself to care, because the room was silent and pitch black, and she was pleasantly warm. That, she thought mildly, would be on account of the arms around her, and the warm body pressed against her back. Deliciously warm.

_Peter…_

The smile that curved her lips was almost unconscious. She was awake enough now to remember how she’d climbed into bed with her husband just a few hours ago. Awake enough to remember the half-adorable, half-delicious sight of Peter in pyjama bottoms and nothing more… She still hadn’t quite got used to it.

In fact, in her unguarded state of half-sleep, Assumpta was not at all embarrassed to feel an indiscreet level of happiness in the knowledge that her life was now full of Peter. 

Her face broke into a sleepy grin as she thought about his razor next to her soap in the bathroom, his books piled on top of hers on bedside tables, his shoes lined up with her ones by the door. Perhaps best of all, his ring on her finger.

But no, what was _really_ best of all was that as she shifted slightly, the man snuggled close behind her gave a sleepy moan and nuzzled into her shoulder.

Unguarded as she was, Assumpta Fitzgerald felt a tear roll down her cheek.


	4. Close

Assumpta Fitzgerald rolled over in bed, heaving a sigh and slamming her fist into the opposite pillow for good measure. Sleep was proving elusive, and she knew exactly why.  She had always thought that, if ever by some miracle she was able to express her feelings for Peter Clifford and he returned them, her sleepless nights would be ended. Apparently, this was not going to be the case.

Oh, Assumpta knew she’d be an ungrateful wretch to complain – her ‘miracle’ had indeed occurred a couple of weeks ago, and she could now rest in complete certainty that Peter Clifford loved her. He struggled to hide it these days, even when they were in public – she smiled at the thought. Yes, that part was turning out really rather well…but sleep was still elusive. Usually she slept alright, but this particular evening she couldn’t help being all aflutter – because tonight, the man who she was very definitely in love with was sleeping just two doors down the hall.

They’d hardly been sure whether it was incredibly convenient or distinctly dangerous when Quigley had had another offer from tourists who wanted to let the curate’s cottage, and out of consideration for Brian’s financial situation Peter was practically forced to take up Assumpta’s ‘generous offer’ of a room for a week or so. Peter was going through the formal process of laicisation from the priesthood, and they had not yet made their relationship public. Assumpta wondered vaguely whether they’d make it through a week of sharing breakfasts without someone noticing a spontaneous kiss goodbye…

But for the moment, it was the very memory of those spontaneous kisses which was keeping her from drifting off. Knowing that Peter was sleeping just down the hall… She kept thinking of the story of Tantalus that her Da had used to read to her from a book of Greek myths – what she wanted was so very close, and yet…  
  
_Tap tap._

At first she thought she’d imagined it – the wishful thinking of a woman deranged with longing – but no, there it was again. A soft, tentative knocking on her door.  Blinking, suddenly nervous, she managed to find her voice. 

“Err, yeah?”  
“Assumpta?  It’s me.”

A smile curved her mouth as she propped herself up on one elbow, raising her voice to converse through the closed door.

“Damn, there I was hoping for Brad Pitt.”  
“Sorry to disappoint.”

She could hear the grin in the way he spoke, she could practically see the look on his face…and there was something exciting about talking surreptitiously through a bedroom door like this, in the pitch black. It was somehow…flirtatious…  Assumpta smirked at her own idiocy.

“Anyway…um, can I come in?  For a minute…?”

That had her snapping to attention, and for a moment she floundered, but after ensuring that she was decent and presentable, she nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

Her eyes were more adjusted to the dark than Peter’s, but even so she heard him more than she saw him as he opened the door and slipped inside, shutting it behind him. He felt his way across the room, stumbling over Assumpta’s shoes briefly, but her laughter died away when Peter sat down on the edge of her bed. That hint of contact made her want him even closer immediately, but Assumpta managed to divert her attention towards the formation of sentences.

“What’s up?”  
He ducked his head, in that sweet way he would whenever he was embarrassed, or when he was trying to look casual.   
“Nothing.  I, err, just…couldn’t sleep.”

She might have replied, ‘ _join the club’_ , but a long-held cautiousness kept Assumpta frozen, and she pressed, “Is something wrong?”  
And Peter laughed – a warm, joyful sound that melted something in her, even as she frowned in confusion.  

“No, no, nothing’s wrong – that’s just it. Plenty of things _could_ be wrong – _should_ be – but despite all the complications we’re going through, I’ve never felt more… That’s why I can’t sleep. Because nothing’s wrong.”

Assumpta was glad of the darkness – they were still getting used to this new honesty, after years of hiding what they felt, and for the moment it suited her fine that Peter couldn’t see just how affected she was by his obvious happiness. But when she spoke, her voice betrayed the depth of her feeling anyway.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been sleeping so well either.”  
Peter chuckled softly at her subtle admission, putting a hand out to rest on top of the duvet. He didn’t say anything more, but he made no move to stand up, either. Assumpta drew a deep breath: she knew she shouldn’t push him, but…

“Can I just…hold you?”

She blinked.  She’d only hoped, she hadn’t _expected_ him to ask _…_

But there was no doubt in Peter’s tone, no guilt at his own suggestion. He was just asking her permission, making sure he wasn’t crossing any boundaries. As she felt her pulse quicken quite against her will, Assumpta shuffled over to make room for him, lifting the duvet in welcome.

“Well,” she smiled, not even sure why she was apparently desperate to keep the tone casual, “I can’t have people freezing to death in my accommodation – it’s bad for business.  Hop in.”

Peter slid into the bed beside her, settling into the warm space she had previously occupied, but Assumpta didn’t mind giving up her cosy spot – if the way her temperature rose was any indication, she’d warm up the other side of the bed quick enough. There was a moment of adjustment as they repositioned the duvet, and Peter plumped the pillows so that his head was level with hers. They lay opposite each other, parallel, and after a moment the man reached out and placed a hand on Assumpta’s waist. She smiled at the tentative contact, and shifted a little closer, letting her own arm come to rest on Peter’s hip. Warmth was already radiating between them.

“That’s better,” he murmured, and she had to grin, even if she was currently experiencing more butterflies in her stomach than she had in her entire life. She and Peter had never been quite this close, quite this alone – quite this _horizontal_ – and Assumpta was incredibly aware of it.

“Sorry if my feet are cold,” he whispered, and it seemed such a thoroughly unromantic thing to say that Assumpta laughed a little, and relaxed.  
“I’m surprised they’re not sticking out the end of the bed – you’re taller than me.”   
Peter smiled, letting his thumb brush her waist in a casual caress.    
“Oh, I’m quite comfortable, thanks.”

And he certainly seemed to be. She wouldn’t have picked it. Since they’d got together he hadn’t hesitated to express his feelings, that was true – after all, they had some lost time to make up for – but nevertheless Assumpta wouldn’t have expected him to be comfortable just yet with this kind of intimacy, comparatively innocent as it was. She _could_ sense that he was a little cautious, testing the waters for them both – but apparently his other feelings were overriding any trepidation. He surprised her constantly. And she liked it.

Assumpta was pulled from her reverie when Peter broke the silence.

“I just realized…I haven’t been in the same bed with another person since…since I was nine, and my brother and I had to top-‘n-tail when we went on holiday to Blackpool.”  
Assumpta chuckled, imagining Peter as a child.  
“Niamh and I used to top-‘n-tail, when I’d stay the night at her house. One time there was a power cut, and her Mammy let us sleep in the lounge on mattresses like we were going camping, and we toasted bread over the fire…It was fun.”

Peter’s arm tightened a little around her waist, only adding to the warm feeling spreading through her. In that moment, it seemed to Assumpta that, for all the hardships, she had really been quite lucky in her life. Peter’s warm breath tickled her forehead.

“ _We_ could always top-‘n-tail, if you want.”  
Something about the teasing tone of his voice combined with his breath against her skin made Assumpta shiver, but she managed to roll her eyes in scorn, even as she snuggled a little closer, causing him to grin smugly.    
“Ahh, I’m comfy enough as is.”  
Peter’s reply was slow, and satisfied, and as full of warm affection as two monosyllabic words could be.    
“Me too.”

“It’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?”  
“Hmm?”  
“That we can lie here together like this. After so many nights imagining…”  
“Imagining, Father Clifford?” Assumpta teased, raising an eyebrow. “Imagining what, exactly?”  
Peter laughed, flustered, and rolled his eyes. “Being close to you, like this.”  
“Hmmm,” she grinned, taking care to sound unconvinced. She shouldn’t tease him, she knew, but she had to maintain _some_ kind of high-ground when every innocent brush of his thumb across her waist was making her shiver. And anyway, he didn’t seem to mind. A silly little smile lit her face.

“So what’s your favourite colour, then?”  
“What?” Peter drew back enough to look down at her.  
“I’m making conversation. Getting to know you. Being close.”  
“Assumpta, we’re in bed together – I think we’re past the stage for ‘ice-breakers’.”  
“Speaking of which…how much does a polar bear weigh?”  
The man rolled his eyes, laughing now, but as he dutifully answered “Enough to break the ice,” the smile between them was coloured by the echo of another conversation – one which seemed to have occurred so very long ago, in the time before they were happy like this.  And now, this felt so right – to be lying in bed together, talking about nothing and everything.

“And, for your information,” Peter continued, “my favourite colour is green, if I have to choose one. Dark green.”  
“You chose the right country, then.” Assumpta smirked. “Mine’s red, I think.”  
“Mm, I like you in red.”  
She had just raised her eyebrows in gratified surprise at the compliment, when he added, “Middlesbrough colours,” and she smacked him on the arm, but failed to maintain her glare.

“Right, my turn,” Peter grinned, changing the subject for the sake of his continued good health, “umm…What’s your favourite book?”  
“That’s impossible,” Assumpta protested, “there are so many.”  
“Fair point,” the man nodded, “I couldn’t choose just one either. I do love books though – I’ve always meant to browse the ones you’ve got on the shelves in the bar, but I’ve never had a chance.”  
“Well, maybe you’ll get a chance now,” she suggested, smiling at the implication. “Do you good to get some Sean O’Casey into you.”  
“Only if you read T.H.White.”  
“Deal.” 

Any self-consciousness had long since dissipated, and Assumpta realized that sometime during the last five minutes she had gone from lying parallel to Peter to being snuggled right up against him, his chin level with the top of her head and her lips tantalisingly close to the skin of his neck. She breathed deep, contentedly, and inhaled the delicious scent of him – heady and masculine. Feeling it go to her head, Assumpta cautioned herself against getting carried away.

“Mmm, I love you,” she breathed, before she’d even realized she was speaking aloud. Peter’s arms tightened around her again, and he nuzzled in to press a kiss on her hair and murmured with quiet sincerity, “I love you too.”

Assumpta smiled and pressed a lingering kiss to his neck, before sighing again in contentment. As she lay there, enveloped in warmth and Peter, some part of her brain acknowledged mildly that to be pressed up against the man’s torso like this, their bodies aligned, was delicious and really rather tempting… But on the other hand, she was so perfectly comfortable and sweetly drowsy that to move at all and break the spell would be a terrible waste. No, she’d just lie there, with him…

\--

It was warm, and dark, and she was still mostly asleep, but something was stirring around the edges of Assumpta’s consciousness. She wasn’t alone in bed. There were arms around her, and the even sighs of a man’s breathing, and – what, it seemed, had woken her – warm lips brushing her cheekbone. Eyes still closed, Assumpta couldn’t help an almost delirious smile as her drowsy mind pieced it all together.

_Peter._

It was wonderful enough to be a dream, and she’d certainly had many like it in the past…but no, this was real. She felt his lips brush her cheek again, a feather-light touch that seemed almost unintentional – and a sleepy sigh of contentment escaped her. Assumpta tilted her head to face him, seeking more soft, sweet touches. It wasn’t long before her mouth found his.

Peter murmured sleepy contentment against her lips as one tender, half-conscious kiss became two, and then three. His hand stirred at her waist, sliding up the fabric of her t-shirt with more instinct than intent to caress her back and pull her closer against him – and it was the most natural thing in the world to respond in kind. 

“Mm, ‘Sumpta…” he murmured, dipping his head to nuzzle the skin of her neck.  
“Mmm,” she replied, because anything more coherent was becoming increasingly improbable with every stroke of Peter’s fingers down her spine. Nonetheless, she was not quite so dazed as to be unaware that they were teetering on a rather significant brink: one that meant a lot to both of them.

Then Peter’s mouth was on her neck in slow, sensual kisses, and ohhh God help her, how was she supposed to do anything but gasp? This was definitely dangerous ground…but nothing seemed to _matter_ in that dark, warm world between the covers. Nothing could possibly be wrong.

And, said the petulant-child-within, the last time he’d been kissing her neck so exquisitely, she’d been sensible and responsible and pushed him away. But now, now they knew they loved each other, and they were going to be together…Why _shouldn’t_ they indulge in this closeness?

So Assumpta gave herself over to sensation, for a few blissful minutes…until a particularly well-placed kiss beneath her ear caused a moan to escape her lips, and Assumpta found herself surfacing suddenly, with a slightly shocking awareness of just how lost in him she’d been. And she had to tell him, she had to see him, she had to look into his breath-taking eyes…so she pulled back a little, dipping her head so that her lips brushed Peter’s ear.

“Peter…darling… Are we awake?”

He drew back a little, hands stilling on her back, his breathing as ragged as hers was.  
“Hmm?  I…I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a dream.  I’ve had some like it.”  
Assumpta chuckled softly, her fingers stroking his shoulders calmingly.  
“Me too,” she admitted, and couldn’t resist kissing his cheekbone. “But maybe we should…”  
“Yeah,” Peter nodded, catching her unarticulated meaning and drawing back further until there was a careful few inches between their bodies, just his hand still at her waist. She felt colder immediately, but the dark eyes glittering at her from the opposite pillow were proving a more-than-adequate consolation prize.

“Sorry,” he added sheepishly, but – she was pleased to note – without any deep regret. Assumpta raised a hand to stroke his cheek.  
“Don’t be. Quite aside from being totally wonderful…that was both of us.”  
“I love you,” he whispered – a declaration that continued to stun her on a day-to-day basis, let alone when she’d just been thoroughly kissed. “And, when the time is right, I want to be completely awake, and alert, and love…every inch of you.”

The promise in his words sent a flush right through her, and for a moment Assumpta thought she was going to have to send him back to his own room if he was going to say things like that. But no, what she wanted was to be close to Peter, and close to him she’d stay – until the morning came and they had to face reality yet again.  

She exhaled a ragged breath, shaking her head at him.  
“Sometimes, you know, you’re disgustingly perfect.”  
Peter chuckled softly as she rolled over, grabbing his hand in a wordless direction that he should hold her – an embrace he was more than happy to provide.  
“I’m sorry you find me so utterly repulsive,” he murmured in her ear, a smug little smile in his tone.  
“Hmm,” was all Assumpta trusted herself to say, because she was too drowsy and too happy and too goddamn in love to think of any snarky retort at two in the morning. She could only smile.

As they drifted off in the pitch-black bedroom, Peter and Assumpta held each other close.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked these, let me know? I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
